insanity · prosperity · trying

An Open Letter

6.14.18.jpgSince my now-ex moved out a bit ago, I’ve been composing letters to him in my head.  Things I would normally text throughout the day, the funny or coincidental, the discoveries or challenges.  But, I know these are not to be shared with him right now.

So, I’m going to share them with you!  Ha!  It’s what my “It’s called a Breakup cuz it’s Broken” book would suggest about calling a friend instead, at least for a little while.

All those things you would share throughout and at the end of the day.  The daily download over dinner, how this or that came out… That’s what feels most difficult: the loss of my closest friend.

It has brought to the fore that my dependence upon that relationship has been a bit lopsided to the neglect of my other relationships.  And so I have reached out to several folks, had a few lady dates, and will need to continue to do so.

But in the meantime, since no particular person I know would want to hear about all of the following, I give them to you, the interweb, a diffuse and “It’s your own choice to click this!” readership.  I here allow all my pent-up updating to be relieved without harm, to him, or to me.

So, Dear Friend, who cares about my minutiae:

  • Since J took back the Wusthof knife he brought to the relationship—and I learned what a 4real improvement a good knife can make—I went online and they were having a sale.  I now have THREE(!) new knives, and practically fainted from the ease with which I sliced my daily bread.
  • I went to 4th Street in Berkeley after graduation last Wednesday and bought: those knives, Kiehl’s eye cream (the men’s version bc it’s cheaper and the clerk says it’s just as good!), and two awesome dessert plates at Anthropologie (since the plates I had at home were freebies that don’t go at all and I’m using the new absence of J’s stuff to question what kind of a home I want for myself).
  • I’m doing research for the month + week I’ll be gone this summer (a month at my professional development in Amherst, MA, a week with my mom in Amsterdam and Copenhagen) about reusable items I’ll need (launderable cotton rounds, cloth coffee filters, collapsable silicon coffee maker and travel mug) and using the gift cards from school parents to pay for them.
  • I emailed school to ask about their covering the cost of the night I have to spend in Boston before my PD starts.  They said of course, so I booked the awesomest (&not crazy pricey) boutique hotel in Beacon Hill… and THEY APPROVED IT!  Omigod.  I’m such a fanatic for these cool, boutique hotels now.  Absolutely a result of being with J and going to several with him.
  • Speaking of, did you know there’s one place in Boston where in order to just attempt to get a reservation THEY HAVE TO CONFIRM HOW MANY INSTAGRAM FOLLOWERS YOU HAVE?!?!!?  Dude, I love strong design, but … sheesh.  (And no, I did not fill out their “application” form!)
  • OH!  AND, I was at the library reading “O” magazine and there was a photo spread that took place AT PALIHOUSE… IN THE SAME ROOM I stayed with J.  a month ago.  IN THE SAME BED.  So that didn’t make me sad at all…
  • My best friend from NJ and I confirmed we’ll meet in Boston in July for a girl’s weekend, and I’ve been absolutely bananas about searching for a place for us: how much to spend or not spend to spend or not spend to spe– … and then went to a meeting!
  • Speaking of financial insanity:  I spoke about trying to save for a house right now and a woman approached me with a referral for a real estate agent who works particularly with women, which led to:  a flurry of emails… deranged Redfin stalking… talking to a mortgage broker… learning I’d have to pay HALF my income to pay for a mortgage… running my numbers obsessively… not leaving the house so I could run more numbers… composing texts to my mom and brother about going in together… deleting said texts… talking to a trusted friend… and, finally, being reminded that this chaos is not the droid I’m looking for.  This chaos is something called “avoiding feelings.”  Weird.
  • Then I started meditating again.  >.<

So, yeah, that’s how these 10 days have gone for me!  HOW ARE YOU?!?! BWHAHAHA.

Health and illness, courage and fear, community and isolation, abundance and constriction.

Frankly, it all sounds about right.  For now.

Yours in evolution,  M.


family · prosperity · travel

Suicide Bird.


This is the fictional band name my mom used to describe the musical acts she doesn’t like on the Colbert show.  (HA!)  We were on the phone yesterday and again today about my summer plans and particularly how they might overlap with hers… as we’ve attempted for many years to no avail.

We’ve made some small trips together—to Sedona, and many times her visiting me in San Francisco or me her in NYC—but over the last few years, particularly as I have summers off now, we’ve tried to formulate a plan to go abroad together.  Neither of us have been to “The Continent” (though she’s been to the British Isles twice).

About 2 years ago, we tried to make a plan to go on this trip throughout Italy, but my job wasn’t pleased about my taking days off near the beginning of the school year, so we had to drop it.  Then last summer, I was switching schools and didn’t have the travel funds.  Which brings us to this year: Now that I’ve confirmed my summer job/professional development, I have some “extra” funds — and Molly Wanna Vacation.

When we spoke yesterday, she was very hesitant about confirming anything.  Which felt very typical.  I began to feel a little despairing of ever getting to go on a “real” vacation with her.  She’s turning 70 this year, I just had 5 years cancer-free—it felt like a momentous year for us to do something fabulous.

But, I’m learning, not everybody has the money to do something fabulous.  Or at least, a) what I consider fabulous, and b) when I want to do it.

It feels a little snobby to realize that things I want to do in life are out of reach for some people I love (especially when for so long I was the decliner); but it also feels like a wake-up call, or at least a vibrating phone alarm.  It’s not snobby to want nice things (fabulous things), and my feelings aren’t borne out of judgment (believe me, I’ve pushed into my feelings to root out that truth) — my feelings are just simple acknowledgement of the reality of my current situation and of others’.  And sometimes, those do not align.

Sometimes those with whom I’d love to adventure with aren’t available.  Sometimes that’s due to limitations of time, sometimes money, sometimes interest.  And so I’m left with the open question of “Who’s Next?”

Who are the people I’ll need to meet who can join me in adventures that are feasible AND of interest to us both?  (As clearly not every person will want to accompany me to SF Opera’s CarTUNE afternoon where they’ll screen old Looney Tunes that have an opera reference.  “Kill the Wabbit” anyone?!)

My mom and I spoke again this morning after she had some time to process, and it’s starting to seem that a “real” vacation to Europe is possible for her, for which I’m exceedingly grateful (it’s the rare 70-year old who will readily come up with “Suicide Bird”!).

But there will be times when I can’t have my cake and eat it, too — sometime soon, I may have to take my cake to go.


abundance · clarity · connection · pride · prosperity · self-esteem · vision

If you glue it, they will come.

At my meditation retreat in January, we made a collage of
our “intention” for ourselves for the year, as we do each year.
As I do each year, I tear out probably over 50 images and
phrases at the sewing-circle tables, and then walk over to a corner of
the floor, plop down, and, in solitude, spread out everything I’ve got for editing and
This year, a few specific messages came out of my collage, all of which are in process of fruition.
The first of the images to note is a pair of immense, daring eyes.
Just eyes, some mascara ad surely. But, the single-minded clarity and focus on
one thing, this is what I cut that image out for. Whatever this image was meant
to convey, to me it spelled, Clarity of Vision—Focus. Which, if you’ve been
reading, is something I’ve been aiming toward, especially with my whittling
down of my creative endeavors toward theater alone.
Next of note, is an image from an old 1964 Life magazine. It’s a large black-and-white photo of a woman in a tennis
outfit mid-air, jumping, with her fists curved tight, elbows up, her face
scrunched in emotion—she’d just won Wimbleton, after a
bout with a fatal illness. T
he caption quotes her: “I made it.”
This, for me, does not speak only to my own triumph over
cancer, but also the image of someone celebrating their victory. She is unabashedly celebrating herself, and her
accomplishment. She is
proud of
herself, and
acknowledging it.
How many of us do that, regularly? Not me. It is not an ingrained habit to feel
proud over things I’ve done.
And, again, if you’ve been reading, you know that each time
I’ve shown up to a theater audition recently, the emotion I feel most afterward is pride. Is a
clap-on-the-back feeling of, Damn straight, Molly, you did it. You showed up
for yourself. You made it.
Another strong image in the collage I created caused me the
most difficulty.
I’d cut out a photo of two people, who happened to be in ski
gear walking away from the camera into the snow town, holding hands. With this
couple, I’d placed the words, “Let’s Connect.”
I sat the longest with these images. Placing them on, taking
them off. Placing them on, Yes, Molly, Let’s Connect. Shit, no, I don’t know if
I want to commit to this idea. – Even on a stupid collage.
“Let’s Connect.” I don’t know about this. That sounds
hardest of them all. Do I really want this? Do I really want to connect with someone else? Well, yes… But I’m
In the end, I’m pleased (and proud) to say, I took my glue
stick and fixed the image of the couple and the intention to connect onto my
collage. … In the corner, tucked away. But still, There. And as you have seen, I have been attempting to connect, however inexpertly, with another human being.
Lastly, and this is what prompted me to write this today,
the last images I’ll describe to you are of a fancy dinner party. An event. At this event, a man and woman dressed to kill–a couple–are
looking at a case housing artful jewelry. The party has soft colored lights, fancy
centerpieces–whatever you think of when you think fancy, like Hollywood fancy,
dinner party.
I pasted this on, because I want to be a fancy person who does
fancy things. That’s how I described it to my peers on the retreat as we all
shared our collages and their meanings to us. I have been a little ashamed to
say I want fancy things, I want to be a fancy person, I want to wear fancy
clothes, because I’ve been afraid that makes me superficial. That others will think this “want fancy things” means I think money buys happiness, but that’s not what my meaning is.
Because, another thing you’ve seen me write about here is the
ownership of my true self, including the externals. That has meant upgrading my
wardrobe, buying gold shoes, having a cleaning company come to help upgrade the
aesthetics of my apartment.
I have always been a woman of externals, too. I have an
internal landscape that rivals Ansel Adams, and I have a desire to express on
the outside how I feel on the inside.
And I would like to feel fancy.
Sure, not all the time—I sit here in cotton pajamas, an
Oakland sweatshirt, fuzzy socks, with a well-worn (second hand) Vera Wang
knitted robe knotted tight around me.
But I want to not feel ashamed of wanting to be a fancy
person. Who does fancy things and goes fancy places. Who needs to have fancy things in my closet, because it is not
unheard of that I get invited to fancy events.
THUS. This evening, I am attending a fancy event. A gala.
And I will be wearing a fancy dress suitable for the evening.
However, I will be attending the gala for my job–our annual fundraiser–and thus I
am not a guest, as much as an employee, put to work, for sure.
So, this morning, I was more specific in my morning pages
about my intention to be a fancy person – I would like to be an invited
to fancy things.
Because, apparently the Universe is listening: all the
things I’d pasted on my collage are happening. Therefore, I’d better be intentional with
my intentions.